Slum Melodies
by BallisticHeartStrings
Summary: This arena should be illegal; it should be if it wasn't for the police endorsement. This arena surprisingly has no purpose. No juvenile stress relievers, no tournament, no prizes, unless you count gloating rights but that's how you get taken down quickly.
1. Pilot

**Pilot**

"Focus Dane!"

These words echoed as I returned to my stance. My opponent lunged for my waist, knocking me off balance. Instinctively I raised my arms in defense but too late as I received a heavy blow to my left cheek. He got off and returned to his ready position as I slowly stood up.

It was a full crowd tonight, fitting in as many as twenty people surrounding us some yelling, some silent. But I probably shouldn't be worried about that. Stepping forward I attempted a right jab and followed up with left hook, to no avail it seems. My opponent blocked both attacks and countered with a kick to the temple.

There I was on the ground again. I feel as though I should be embarrassed if it wasn't for the fact that I've been getting my ass handed to me for the past two minutes. At this point my legs are the only things keeping me up seeing as my mind continues to linger.

This arena should be illegal; it should be if it wasn't for the police endorsement. This arena surprisingly has no purpose. No juvenile stress relievers, no tournament, no prizes, unless you count gloating rights but that's how you get taken down quickly. Why is this arena here?

Of course while I'm questioning myself my opponent has gone in for the grapple, throwing me over his shoulder. I stand again like an idiot questioning why I continue to torture myself. But whatever, Might as well finish strong. Or at least that's what I thought before being jump kicked in the face.

Seems like my legs have followed my minds example and taking this opportunity to discover how comfortable the ground actually feels when they're not in motion. The referee calls the match over and all I want to do is just close my eyes. Got to be a good sport though, Getting up one more time to shake the hand of my opponent. I probably won't even remember what he looks like as we both head our separate ways into the crowd. I could stay to watch the rest of the fights but I'd rather just lie in bed.

I receive pats on the shoulder by other fighters that show up as often as I do, the look in their eyes tell me that they understand how I'm feeling at the moment, nothing. I shrug it off, It's not like I'm on too big of a losing streak, 6-15 isn't a bad record considering that I don't have a definitive style or mastery of fighting. I'll be back again anticipating an actual victory some other day.

It's still as dark as I had came in outside, with the occasional street lamp to light the sidewalk. I can't tell if my motion is natural or sluggish, probably the latter considering the looks I'm receiving. Or that could be the swelling, I can't really tell.

I don't necessarily feel like going home yet knowing that my father is going to be interrogating me on my match ending his session with a disappointing look. I can imagine that look now as I continue my trek onward. It's unfortunate; I really did want to see him smile tonight, at least at the beginning of tonight. The walk always feels much longer when I have this passive aggressive mind state, reaching in my pocket hoping I had remembered my key. I had one blessing tonight as I reached my doorstep. Or not, I thought as my key fell out of my pocket. Picking it up I placed it in the only thing it has true connection to and unlocked the door. My father had fallen asleep in the living room, probably waiting for me, and I assume my mother was in her bedroom. I climbed up the stairs with the speed of which only seems normal in my mind and went straight to my bedroom. The bed has never felt more like a luxury as I collapsed into it, eyes shut.


	2. Optimist

**Optimist**

The sun had caught me off guard this morning; I had forgotten to close the blinds the night before. Maybe it was a blessing; I probably would have slept all day if aloud. Looking at the clock it wasn't that late, especially if you were ready for a lecture from your boss.

My mind has yet to focus enough to recognize if I am happy today, my gut feeling pulls both ways. Rather than sit and watch the clock I finally raise and head straight for the bathroom. There were still red marks on my face from last night but at least my hair hasn't over grown yet, that's thinking positive. However if I want to continue my fighting campaign I may need a trim soon.

I decide that if I'm going to be late I should at least smell nice and turn on the shower, stripping my "uniform" as the water warmed. I didn't wait today like I usually do, something told me that cold water would be a good way to jump start my morning and alas, it was.

I wonder why it's so easy to get lost in showers. Not just man made but rain showers, meteor showers, baby showers, any type of shower. There's always something about it that you find yourself focused on that you lose track of time, unless you're not in to it that is. I guess to be showered is to be engulfed in which would make sense. I guess it's just as easy to find negative showers as well. However I don't think people use shower, rather they use storm. There's something more corrupt about storms.

Of course as I'm showered in my thoughts, ironically, I forget that I'm late. So I finish my scrubbing, escape my shower illusion and go in search for my work clothes. Fortunately I have one last white tee shirt left over which means tonight's laundry night. Slipping on my work jeans I grab a couple of dollars for lunch and head outside.

It's a beautiful Saturday morning which means something's bound to go wrong. Probably my job if I don't hurry. Another blessing occurred as I arrived just as the bus did. There was a different crowd this morning considering that I usually take the earlier bus. No one ever stands out however, everyone is just common everyday people, and they probably see me the same way.

When it comes down to it assuming what some ones secret life is based off their public attire isn't the smartest move. It's possible that one of them is an assassin patiently waiting for their next mission as they handle their boredom by having a day job. Or maybe someone else is a king from a different country experiencing the common folk life in order to better account for his people. Or maybe…I'm just so bored I'm creating secret lives for these random people without their permission in order to help ease this painfully slow bus ride.

Funny considering while I was day dreaming I happened to miss my stop. I guess I'm not going to work today. Better start preparing excuses for tomorrow while my mind is already engaged. I got off at the next stop and began my destinationless cruise through the city. Average Joes everywhere. Almost as if the bus was simulated out in the world. Of course something did catch my eye.

This was something that I had only seen in one place before, a group of people creating a circle around two others. The difference from the arena was these people were all holding money. Gambling isn't illegal in the city if the police don't catch you but I don't see how they wouldn't catch someone based on how obvious of a scene these people were making.

Curiosity, unfortunately, has a strange way of lingering in your brain. Before I knew it I was one of the people in the circle surrounding the two combatants, Thanks feet. It was an obvious street fight considering that the two men's arms were flailing about in a way that I couldn't tell if they were actually fighting or just dancing together. I was getting bored quickly and decided it was best to leave now instead of waiting for more disappointment. I was caught on the shoulder by an unfamiliar hand.

"What? Too sissy to watch a couple of men go at it?" I chuckled at this comment. "More like too bored with watching two men afraid to confess their love for each other." At this point the attention was focused on me and this mid-sized man. Even the two fighters stopped what they were doing after recognizing my comment was directed at them. The circle almost unnoticeably began to circle around us.

"Care to prove a point then?" The man had let go and began stretching his shoulders and neck. I already knew that I was locked into this fight before I had the opportunity to rebuttal.

"If you insist," I shrugged and began to stretch my own joints. Before the actual fight began I could hear mumbling in the crowd, rather bets. By the way the betting was going down it would seem that this man was no mere opponent, at least to them he wasn't. He seemed average but I do remember my earlier thoughts on how you can't judge average people secrets by their attire.

When the betting was done a blond slicked back haired man wearing a dress shirt, some jeans and sneakers joined us in the circle. Now this man… This man was unusual. In fact, if it wasn't for this fight I would have taken the opportunity to study him more thoroughly. The other truly noticeably thing I saw before looking back at my opponent was the boxing gloves hanging from his belt. How this man went unnoticed until now I have no idea, but I can't really worry about it at the moment.

The only thing he said, in a surprisingly British accent, was,

"Street Fight

No Rules

Begin."


	3. Living Slightly Larger

**Living Slightly Larger**

My opponent made the first move, extending his fist towards my face in an obvious fashion, nothing like the opponents at the arena. I ducked below his arm and went for a punch in his abdomen. As expected he took the hit and stumbled backwards. It's truly unimpressive but what was I expecting? All my thoughts were circling on the quickest way to complete the fight.

Standing straight up again I stepped toward this man. Once again he made the determined move attempting to kick me in the face. Dodging it was the easy part; the question was how to react. My instinct answered with a grapple as I grabbed him by the waist and tossed him over my hip. On the ground, he reacted faster than me kicking out my legs. Down I went.

I should have known, even mental gloating can get your ass kicked. Rolling out of the way he stood looking down at me. Now that my thoughts have caught up with what just happened I follow his example and stand up.

This time I was going to make the first move, stepping forward I threw an immediate left hook. He saw it coming as I transferred into the right hook, missing. He took the opportunity given to him and punched me in the left cheek; doesn't seem like it's going to heal any time soon at this rate.

I was motivated. It's embarrassing enough to lose in the arena against talented opponents, what would it mean if I lost to this nobody? Despite this both of breathing had a consistent heave and drop. I sighed knowing this battle was going to be far more difficult then I had originally perceived.

I retaliated to his attack with an uppercut, blazing toward his chin, hitting the target. Grabbing his arm I slightly spun my body throwing the man to the ground. I plopped down on top of him, straddling over his back, and started bashing the back of his head first the right fist, then the left, then grasping my hands together.

I stood up, backing away expecting another sweep. It didn't seem like he would get up this time however. The Blond haired man stepped back into the circle and counted.

"10…9…"

I was expecting more of a fight from someone with such big talk. Of course I spoke too soon as he returned to his feet. The blond haired man stepped back into the crowd as all eyes were centered on my opponent. His face covered with left over pieces of gravel and blood delicately descending from his nose. He had this look of confused frustration, almost as if he was expecting an easy victory. I knew at that point I wouldn't allow myself to reward him with that kind of glory.

Time stood still for a moment as we stared each other down. Eyes to Eyes, Stance to Stance, soon to be Fists to Fists. The intensity was killing me and I knew of only one way to handle it. I rushed toward my opponent stopping just in range to elevate my foot into his head.

Missing was not an option and of course I blew it. The moment my foot retreated to the ground this man tackled my waist in a similar fashion to last night. Just like last night I raised my arms in defense and just like last night I was too late. The man returned the favor by making his first assault my nose. The pain was almost unbearable as my first instinct was to cover my nasal, stupid mistake. He began to wop away at my face as the crowd cheered. How else would they have gotten their money back?

I don't think anyone bet on me as my mind began trailing into the crowd. I was thinking of all the normal faces that saw me as a threat to their winnings. Any other time I would have gave up at this point, but then I remembered the face. Those determined blue eyes, that pale battle hardened mug. I knew I couldn't allow myself to lose in front of such a person.

The moment my competitor had quit the barrage of punches I released my hand from my nose and forced my forehead into his. Not the smartest approach but after receiving the blow he jumped off quickly. I bounced up with new energy in me beginning a sequence of jab, jab, low kick. It probably felt more awkward than it looked but it was well worth it. I raised my opposite foot and dropped the heel into his upper torso.

There was no question at that point, I was victorious. The blond haired man returned to the center of the circle and began to count again. Even he had the expression that he knew who won. By the end of the count the man ordered two people in the circle to take my opposition to the hospital. The crowd had a depressing air to them as their money was handed to some random person who actually betted on me.

"Steve." The blond haired man had said. I had been focused on the crowd and was taken aback when I realized he was talking to me.

"Huh?"

"My name's Steve, Steve Fox." He said extending his hand forward. I accepted the invitation gripping his hand, "Dane Lyn."

"Well, Dane. It was a pleasure watching you fight." I smiled at the response; it was exactly what I had wanted to hear.

"Steve are you fighter?" I knew the answer but wanted to hear him say it. "Boxing Champion," He spoke so nonchalant that I almost didn't believe him. "Wanna try me a go?" That determination is his eyes was glowing. In fact his request felt somewhat intimidating.

"I'll have to pass on that." I spoke hoping that my emotions wouldn't affect my tone. He smirked and replied, "That's a shame. See you around." He turned to leave and in that instant I had a feeling that this may be the last time I see him.

"Wait," I surprised myself. "Will there be another opportunity?" Steve smirked glancing back at me. "Keep fighting hard and we'll see." Steve continued his way down the street, blending in as he had done before.

_This would be my first Authors Comment on this story. I hope you've enjoyed up to this point and this will be the end to the somewhat "prologue" of this story. From here in the opponents will have names and there will be more character interaction. I'd appreciate any criticism especially on the fighting, considering it's the first true fight sequence i've written. Thank you. _


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